


dress code

by kalesmay



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, thats it nothing else, they're not heroes in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:30:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalesmay/pseuds/kalesmay
Summary: It's possible that Clark Kent does not grasp the concept of "black tie".





	dress code

**Author's Note:**

> just a little fluff piece i wrote on a whim at 4am. find me on tumblr @ dicktigers

"Clark," Bruce says, "would you like to go out for dinner?" Clark looks up from his desk, blinking owlishly from behind his glasses. Bruce ignores the titters of the Planet staff; maybe visiting Clark during hours wasn't the best idea Bruce has had, but Diana told him spontaneity was important, so here he is.

"Um. Now?" Clark glances at his watch. "It's 4 in the afternoon? And I'm working?" He looks like a deer in headlights, if the deer were a bookish hipster in front of a MacBook. Bruce decides not to comment on the fact that Clark phrased every one of his sentences as a question. After all, Clark spends most of his time bemused -- Bruce is rather used to it.

Stifling an eye roll, Bruce says, "No, not right now. Later. You need to change, anyway. Formal wear. I'll pick you up at 7." Clark, already reabsorbed into his laptop, offers him a confirmation in the form of a two finger salute, the vintage fountain pen Bruce had gotten him last Christmas tapping absently against his lower lip. Rather than making eyes at Clark in the middle of the Daily Planet workroom, he turned and walks towards Lois Lane, who was in a conversation with Cat Grant that was almost certainly about him, if he knew Cat at all. "Afternoon, ladies."

Cat smiles warmly, and Lois does a half wave. She's perched on the edge of Cat's desk, making a chain of brightly colored paperclips with no discernible pattern. "What can we do for you, Mr. Wayne?" He's asked her a dozen times to call him Bruce, so naturally she insists on doing exactly _not_ that.

"Dinner with Clark tonight. Please make sure he adheres to the dress code." Bruce knows Clark can hear him, which makes him almost smile as he turns over his shoulder to glance at his indignant expression.

Lois tuts. "Can't tonight, big shot. Girls night with Cat. Cuts into mani-pedi time." Bruce sighs.

"Worth a shot. Thank you anyway. Have a good night, ladies." As he walks out, he pulls out his phone and orders gift baskets to have sent to Grant's apartment. Barbara swears by them, and Bruce is nothing if not generous. He hopes Lois and Cat like bath bombs.

•••

It's 7:04, and Bruce is waiting by his car. Every ten and a half seconds, he checks his watch. While he sends a response to Dick's text ( _Have fun with Clark!_ ) and ignores Jason's (which is just a blurry picture of what Bruce supposes is a UFO and a caption that says " _your ride is here_ "), Clark bounds down the steps of his apartment building, two at a time. He comes to a stop in front of Bruce, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry I'm late, lost my keys. You look nice!" Clark pushes his glasses up, scrubbing a hand through his dark curls. Bruce pockets his phone and tries to keep his face politely impassive.

"Clark," he begins, carefully, "this is a _black tie restaurant_."

Clark Kent, of Smallville, Kansas, is wearing a flannel tucked into straight leg jeans, and a pair of scuffed leather loafers. Clark looks down at Bruce's Armani suit, Rolex watch, and Gucci shoes, and scoffs.

"Hey! I tucked in the shirt, and there's no holes in the knees!" Clark sounds offended. It's possible that this was his idea of appropriate dress, which further distresses Bruce. If there aren't any holes in the knees, it's due to the paisley printed patch there, undoubtedly lovingly sewed by Ma Kent on the front porch.

Bruce closes his eyes, not quite naive enough to think Clark will be wearing a tie when he opens them, but desperate enough to hope. "What part of _black tie_ did you mistake for _bolo_?" The restaurant has a dress code, and Clark certainly did not fit. Being Bruce Wayne, he could probably still get him inside even if he was wearing a Speedo, but it brings about headlines that Jason emails gleefully to Bruce about **_Billionaire Bruce Wayne seen with His Homeless Cousin?_** , so he tries to avoid it if at all possible.

In the same conversation Diana mentioned spontaneity, she also mentioned compromise, and she had yet to be wrong. Bruce Wayne generally wasn't someone who compromised, but he makes a lot of exceptions where Clark is concerned.

••

The next day, Bruce wakes up to a family wide email, sent by Jason. It's a link to an article titled, **_Gotham's Prodigal Son Banned From Elite Eateries?_** , with an attached picture of Bruce in his favorite suit, tucked into a cracking vinyl booth across from flannel wearing Clark Kent. It's funny, Bruce admits, the juxtaposition of it, but it doesn't capture the smile on Clark's face, wrapped around a greasy eight dollar burger. The article doesn't mention how Clark's eyes lit up when Bruce told him to lead the way to his favorite restaurant, or how everyone stared at him funny when he walked in, much to the delight of his company.

He snorts softly at the email, wiping sleep from his eye as he sits up. Clark, who he'd been trying not to wake, gets up with him, leaning his cheek on Bruce's shoulder and laughing at the picture.

"You look stupid there," He says, voice rough with sleep.

Bruce stretches out his back, dislodging and disgusting Clark with the sharp cracks of his vertebrae. "I've never looked stupid in my life."

Clark makes a noise of dissent. "Stephanie said you're a furry who dresses like a bat,"

"I'm going to kill her. It was one time! Wait, Clark, do you even know what a furry is?"

"...No, but I don't want to look it up, do I?"

"How can you be a journalist and not know what a...you know what? Nevermind. I _didn't_ wear a batsuit and I'm _not_ a furry, and that's the end of the discussion. _Okay_?"

Mirthful, Clark says, "Aye aye, captain. Breakfast?"

Breakfast, Bruce can do.


End file.
